


Don't Say You Need to Go When You Don't

by EasyTiga



Series: What It Takes to Be a Good Pet [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Cock Slut Jared Padalecki, Dom Jensen Ackles, Holding, Humiliation, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Impact Play, Kneeling, M/M, Master Jensen Ackles, Master/Pet, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paddling, Pet Jared Padalecki, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Punishment, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Sub Jared Padalecki, Top Jensen Ackles, Total Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: Jared was sure that he would be able to kneel by Master's side for 6 hours without needing to go. He thought he had convinced himself before the session starts. With each sip of water, the task of keeping in his request to use the bathroom becomes incrasingly diifficult...Maybe interupting Master's important work and their quiet time to ask to go won't be such a bad idea?Jared could only hope.(Jensen and Jared are in a 24/7 Total Control relationship. This is, essentially, where the Dom makes all decisions for their Sub and there are no safe-words. If you're expecting cute and cuddly, you can find that in the aftercare. If you're expecting no punishment, I'm afraid you're in the wrong place.)
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: What It Takes to Be a Good Pet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920880
Comments: 13
Kudos: 49





	Don't Say You Need to Go When You Don't

**Author's Note:**

> I have been looking forward to posting this for over a week now, and I'm so excited about this verse... You have no idea. We have SO much planned for it. So many moments!!! I hope you'll join us for the ride!
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS to @AreJackles for her help during the editing process! :D
> 
> thatmermaidgirl brought the Poster to life, and I think it looks fantastic! :D

A shiver goes through Jared at the touch of Master’s fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. He loves these moments, kneeling by Master’s legs, remaining still and quiet as he works. Jared has an idea of what he does, however, won’t dare ask. It isn’t his place to, as a pet, after all. There’s a sense of comfort that comes along with his role, not having to make decisions, allowing one person who he trusts, above all else, to dictate his life.

There isn’t another soul on the planet that he feels comfortable signing his life away to. Even if he had known that this lifestyle appealed to him before having met his master, Jared can’t see himself agreeing to another person’s proposal to be, essentially, theirs to do with as they please.

No, he was made to be Master’s pet. His good pet, on most days. Well, Jared likes to think that he’s _mostly good,_ even if he does mess up from time to time. Master swiftly punishes him, though, and then he tries harder not to make the same mistake twice. Once is bad, twice is much, much worse. Jared has learned this lesson multiple times throughout the past few years as Master’s pet.

He doesn’t regret a single moment, never looking back to the days where he wasn’t made to kneel by his Master’s side, getting the occasional petting as Master does his job, efficiently and without fault.

The only problem is that he needs to use the toilet. And it’s getting increasingly more difficult for him to not ask to go. Master was kind enough to offer Jared to use the facilities before agreeing to kneel by his feet for six hours while he worked, but Jared had said no, like an idiot. He hadn’t anticipated needing to go.

Normally, he can hold it without issue. In this case, however, he’s dealing with two bottles of water spread through four hours, so far. Master keeps him well hydrated. He’s good to him like that.

The pressure in his bladder reaches a new level. Jared wills his body to not start fidgeting. He’s not allowed to fidget. That would mean he’s disrupting Master’s work, and he absolutely can’t do that. The last time he lost his hold and bumped Master’s leg, he spent two whole days in the cage. All he told himself while he was in there was that he would do better if Master ever let him out, vowing to keep his posture in check, no matter what.

Can he hold on for two more hours? Jared’s not sure. The water has gone straight through him, his bladder hurts, the position he’s in not helping with his level of comfortability, which is rapidly dropping. He tries not to think about any triggers. No taps, droplets, babbling brooks, et cetera, even if his traitorous mind attempts to swarm him with those mental images. It’s not easy.

He supposes it could be worse. This could be a day where he doesn’t have his kneeling cushion, after all. Maybe he should accept his master has two more hours of work, figuratively cross his legs and forget about it. When Master is done, he will ask him if he needs to go to the bathroom again. Jared will say yes, Sir, please, and Master—hopefully—will permit him to go.

Ten minutes crawl on by, Jared’s bladder reminds him that it’s out to get him, but he takes the next helping of water anyway, thanking Sir after he gulps it down, relishing the stroke to his cheek it rewards him. Master’s fingers are so soft and caring, knuckles grazing along his skin, the tips of his digits flirting with Jared’s lips around the rim of the bottle.

Jared wants to suck them. But he can’t. He’s not been told that he can. If he were to indulge, he would only be reprimanded, even if Master enjoys it. They’re not Jared’s fingers to suck on if he’s not permitted—he does well to remember that.

After a few pulls of water, Master takes his bottle away. He places it in front of his glass, runs a hand down Jared’s hair then returns to his work. Jared misses his hand the moment it leaves, but he can tell from Master’s concentration that he’s getting to the important parts.

There’s a good possibility that Master’s work time might run on, which would mean Jared would have to wait even longer before using the bathroom. There is a stipulation in the Rules that says he can request something, provided he’s absolutely desperate and has no other choice. Jared feels as though he’s reaching his limit, bladder protesting each tick on Master’s watch, muted only by the tapping of keys.

Now wouldn’t be the best time to ask, he thinks. Master has a tick in his jaw, his eyes have hardened and his foot is imperceptibly rising and falling off the floor. This tells Jared that he’s testy, currently. Not a good idea to cut in when Master isn’t in the best of moods—especially not while in the middle of important work.

Jared keeps his neck straight. Poor posture is always punished. Sometimes severely. He rests, eats, drinks and exercises enough—there is no reason for him to have spells of lethargy or lack the decency to keep his legs closed. In the grand scheme of things, Jared is a very fortunate pet, and he should be grateful to even eat the scraps off Master’s plate, if he so chooses to feed them to him.

From his position, Jared isn’t permitted to look Master in the eyes—this is true, but he can’t help marvelling how breathtakingly beautiful he is from any angle, quite often forgetting himself, where he is, the month, year, when he’s caught in a time loop that exists of nothing but the perpetual gift to humanity that is his master. And he’s the lucky soul that gets to kneel by his side, doing his level best to promptly follow any and all of his orders, that he longs to be on the receiving end of for the rest of his life.

Watching Master is like witnessing the Statue of David being crafted from nothing, his nose the Sistine Chapel, his lips the Mona Lisa, his cheekbones the Northern Lights, his eyebrows The Last Supper. Master’s eyes are another story. Every work of art rolled into one blend of greens and golds. Sometimes Jared gets to stare into them, lost in a sea of shamrocks floating along a fully smelted yellow brick road. Jared drowns in them every time, forgetting how to breathe, how to talk, to do anything other than worship at Master’s feet, praying to anyone that will listen that he will be worthy of his attention, if even for another few minutes.

Jared struggles not to get lost staring, bladder insisting that he doesn’t have much time left before he messes the floor. Master won’t like that. Not one bit. It would be better if he gave him a warning, Jared understands this—actually getting the words out is another thing entirely.

Fortune smiles on Jared a few moments later when Master’s form softens marginally. No one else would notice it. Jared is trained to notice it. He wants to notice, because if he sees what it is and reacts correctly, Master might reward him with more petting. That’s something Jared loves. A lot. A whole lot. He tries not to melt whenever Master’s fingers card through his hair, but that task is difficult.

Another wave of shivers ghost along his spine as Master pats his cheek and strokes the spot behind his ear. Jared has to will his body to remain still, keeping his eyes trained on the side of Master’s face. This is not for him. Master is touching him, petting him, caressing him because Jared is his possession. It doesn’t matter if he craves Master’s touches, he is not allowed to vocalise or express that joy unless he is told to do so.

A stab of pain coils in his bladder, Jared’s mind doing everything it can to prevent his hips from jerking. He’s been doing so well since last week and he doesn’t want to be on Master’s bad side again, not when he can help it. And he can! This isn’t his first rodeo, after all. Not by a long stretch.

Master’s hand retracts, taking Jared’s glee with it. Focusing on Master’s hand helped somewhat. Jared shouldn’t need the hand to cope, he knows better than that. Better than to hope that Master will pat his leg, signalling for Jared to rest on his thigh. Jared cherishes those moments. Master scratches his scalp, massages it until Jared feels his eyes drooping. Rarely, Master will permit him to fall asleep like that, and Jared’s body sings with joy every time.

Today isn’t one of those days. Or maybe it could be, if Jared didn’t need to open his mouth and speak.

The word almost gets stuck in his throat.

“Sir?”

Master pauses his typing, eyebrow twitching. Not a good sign. That means Master was enjoying their quiet time together—it also means if he had just kept his mouth shut, there may have been a treat in it for him.

“Yes, Pet?”

Jared swallows. Master’s tone dictates that he’s on thin ice, so he should tread very carefully.

“Please, Sir, I need to use the bathroom.”

For a few seconds, he’s assessed, keen eyes sweeping down his form. Jared wonders if there’s a mental checklist in Master’s head. That would be presumptuous of him, however, and that’s not his place. Far be it for him to even suggest what Master is thinking.

“Five more minutes,” Master says finally, setting up a timer on his watch, and Jared feels his stomach plummet.

All he can do is will himself to hang on, thinking about a treat if he does good. Master can be generous with those, depending. Jared would love it if it’s Gummy Worms. Master lets him lick or suck the sugar off his fingers. And, if he’s super lucky, he’ll thrust his finger in and out of Jared’s mouth and make him choke on it.

He tries not to count the minutes as they come, knowing that that will only make it worse for him, bladder feeling like it’s about to burst without _anyone’s_ permission. It helps that his legs are closed, he supposes. Master always knows what he needs, even when he can’t feel the goings-on of his body.

While he waits, he tunes in to the finger swipes across the mousepad, subtle taps that translate to clicks and the _clack_ of keys as Master executes an array of text with astounding precision—precision Jared could merely dream of having.

Beeping resonates from Master’s watch, triggering a wave of relief in Jared, which he battles to keep out of his composure.

“Sir… It’s been five minutes.”

Master retracts his head, raises a ’brow and casts a closed-eyed smile in his direction. “Well, would you look at that? It seems you didn’t _really_ need to go, doesn’t it?”

Jared swallows. Oh no.

“I guess not, Sir.”

“You _guess_ not, Pet?”

Master’s lips are set, the tick is getting more prominent. His throat is closing. Double oh no.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t get to decide.”

“That’s right. You _don’t_ get to decide. I do,” Master replies, sighing. He sounds disappointed. Jared feels sick. “Go. Use the bathroom, then come right back here. You have _three_ minutes.”

“Would it be okay if I walk to make it faster, Sir?”

The look he receives is not one that says _Yes, Pet. Three minutes isn’t enough time to crawl, so using your feet is the_ only _way you would make it._ No, Master’s eyes say he better start crawling and don’t dare look back.

Triple oh no.

Not daring to look back is exactly what Jared does, pushing his hands and knees to the limit, veering out of Master’s office, making a sharp right and bolting as quickly as he can for the nearest bathroom accessible to him.

He has no idea how long it’s been when he gets through the door, closes it behind him and pulls his jock forward enough to get his dick out, immediately releasing the stream into the water basin. Peeing while squatting took some time to adjust to, but he manages it now without any fuss, has even come to like the practicality of it, not that he’s allowed such an opinion.

After activating the automatic flusher, Jared waits a couple of seconds for the rinse then darts to the kneeling sink, hurriedly washing his hands, almost forgetting to turn the tap off. He rushes back to Master’s office, keeping his breathing even, returning to his position on the pillow.

Master flicks his eyes to him, shakes his head. Whatever Master wishes to do with him he will accept without question, for if he wills it, Jared need not worry about his motivations. That’s for Master to mull over, not him. All he has to do is follow his word and everything will be okay in the end. Jared knows this. He trusts his Master implicitly.

Jared tracks the motion of Master’s hand. One tap means rest. Two means warming. Three means over knees. From the set to Master’s jaw, three taps is in his rapidly approaching future.

Instead of tapping, Master rounds the desk, rubbing his tired eyes. Jared has done bad. Now Master is exhausted. Why can’t he be better? On the other side, Master points his index and middle up and crooks them.

_Crawl._

Not wasting any time dawdling, Jared moves to his side, hoping the added sway to his hips will appease Master. It doesn’t. Or, at least, Master isn’t willing to show it. Once he reaches his feet, Master’s fingers point down, curling towards his hand.

_Kneel._

The fact that his master isn’t using as many vocal commands has anxiety building in Jared’s chest, for this normally suggests that his Punishment will be more pain than pleasure—not that he doesn’t deserve it. He does, for being a disobedient pet.

Master taps the desk. “Lean. _Now_ , boy. Do _not_ waste my time, any more than you already have today,” Master intones, avoiding looking at him. Jared’s hands flatten on the desk in record time.

_Back arched. Hips back. Ass out. Legs Spread, shoulder-width, absolutely no further._

No wobbling. He can’t wobble. If he wobbles, it makes it all worse.

A hand settles on the small of his back, vibrating. Master is very displeased. _No._ He should have kept his mouth shut. Clearly, he was able to hold for another five minutes. Master showed him that. He proved that to him, proving once again that he knows best, so why didn’t he just trust him to tell him when he can go to the bathroom?

Jared stiffens as Master’s other hand squeezes his right buttcheek, hard.

“Do you know why I’m disappointed?” Master asks. If Jared doesn’t answer correctly, he may as well give up his position to someone far more deserving of Master’s time and endless patience. “Answer me, Pet. If you stutter, do not expect to have T.V. privileges for the rest of the week.”

It’s Monday.

No stuttering. He can do this. Master wills it, and he will deliver. Promptly, on time, efficiently and without fuss.

“I interrupted your work to ask to go to the bathroom because I insisted that I really needed to right then, but I can’t have been that desperate or I wouldn’t have been able to hold it for another five minutes when you said to, nor would I have made it to the bathroom, Sir.”

Jared thanks his lucky stars that he got through all of it without a blunder.

A warning slap resounds off his buttcheek. It’s a prompt. Oh no. What is he forgetting? What else did he do wrong? There are so many things that he could have messed up—what was it? No—sh–sugar. _Sugar_. Jared searches his memory, picks through the last ten minutes—what did he forget?

Behind him, Master sighs.

Angry. Disappointed. He’s screwed.

“Good effort. You missed the part about talking back to me, however, and for forgetting such a blatant transgression, on your part, there will be three parts to your Punishment. The first will be a spanking. Twenty on each cheek. I will decide the intensity. You will count. I will be getting the paddle for the second round. Same guidelines as the first will apply—do not forget them or suffer the consequences. Your third part of the Punishment will be told to you once the first two have been dealt. Do I _need_ to repeat myself?”

Jared shakes his head. “No, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“The only sounds I want to hear out of you until this is over are numbers. Anything else will result in harsher punishment,” Master tells him, and Jared tries not to let his eagerness show in his shoulders at hearing the whisky-laced words crawling up his spine and making him tingle all over.

There’s no waiting, the only warning Jared receives being the smoothing of a powerful, graceful hand across his ass. Then it comes down. He counts _one._ Waits, bracing for impact. The second one is harder, leaves a sting that travels down to the tips of his toes. Master is mad. He has every right to be. His pet, Jared, has been bad—disobeyed him, didn’t trust that he knew what’s best; he deserves everything he gets.

“Three,” Jared says clearly, waves of heat rippling over his flesh, tapering off at the nape of his neck like a surging current colliding with a solid barrier. “Four.” Master delivers the next three without preamble. Jared counts them in time. Can’t miss a beat. Don’t make it any worse. “Eight,” he announces the next one, still even, still fine, still not teetering.

But then Master puts more weight into his hand, the swing guided by a twisting of his hips.

Jared’s next count cuts off.

No. Why can’t he keep his voice _even?_

Don’t apologise. It only makes it worse. No sounds unless they’re numbers. Unless Master tells him otherwise, that’s what he needs to stick to. Whatever Master wishes to add on is exactly what he deserves.

Swallowing the cry of pain fighting to break out of his throat feels like shards of glass are making a home, piercing through the exterior of the fleshy walls to imbed themselves within his blood. Master holds his balls tight with one hand, slaps them with another. Jared clenches his fists. Doesn’t budge. Can’t.

“Good boy,” Master says, acknowledging him. He’s pleased that Jared didn’t cry. He’s proud of him for that. That’s why his master is so amazing. Even when Jared is being punished for being a useless sack of— _something_ , Master will tell him when he’s done good. He wants him to know that he’s valued, and preparing his body for the next blow is all he can do to hold back the tears of joy pricking at his eyes.

“If you can do that, why can’t you count?” Master admonishes, smoothing a hand over his ass before unleashing a spree of six slaps on the left, each one harder than the next. Jared counts them all. “See? You can do it. I know you’re capable of it or I would have tossed you aside with the rest of the trash. Is that what you want?”

It’s not for him to decide. This is a test.

“Very good, Pet.” Six more slaps, this time on the right. Jared doesn’t need Master to remind him that he started from scratch after his blunder. Fourteen more on each. He can do it. There’s nothing he wants more than to be a good pet. Master strokes a hand over his crotch then. “Not even a twitch.”

Jared can’t get hard. He hasn’t been told he can. His cock is not his. Getting hard would mean he did something without permission. And he’s not about to do that when Master is already upset with him. A small voice hopes that Master will have mercy, that he will tell him it’s all right to get an erection. Jared has one. Not one that’s visible. A phantom weight is bumping against the top of the desk just having Master’s stunning form looking down on him, hands so flawless not even the Gods could compare, voice so intoxicating Sirens would beg, borrow and steal to obtain it—Jared’s cock is Master’s cock.

That is final.

Three more. Two on the left. One on the right. Jared does the math. Master is expecting him to remember. He will stop after the number he set forth is reached, but Jared will also be punished if he counts incorrectly.

“Nine,” Jared voices, feeling his muscles start to relax as Master delivers four more soul-shaking smacks to the left cheek. He counts those, too, feeling floaty, clinging onto the edge of stability as he gets out the final count of thirteen. “Eight.” Right. Good. No fuss, no muss, no repercussions. Remember that and he’ll be fine. Remember that and Master will reward him for being good, for listening, for not colouring outside the lines.

“Nine.” Right again. Jared braces. Too long, too much anticipation. The next slap is sharp, stings like a lash from Master’s favourite whip. It hurts. But Jared doesn’t flinch—doesn’t dare move at all, only to open his mouth, controlling the weight of his voice as he says, “Ten, fourteen, eleven.”

Master’s hand is the gift, and Jared is its humble recipient, accepting every lash over his skin with nothing but the utmost respect and gratitude for being chosen, for being given a chance to assuage his guilt. This is what he needs to purge himself of the burden of choices. They are not his. He is not his. He is Master’s. Master’s hands are the soothing current stripping him of worthless, impure ideations such as free-will, desire, hopes, dreams—they do not belong to him.

Anything he could ever dream up or want is right behind him, bearing down on his ass with hot, streaks of righteous fire that incinerate anything untoward in their path, leaving Jared with nothing but warmth, body singing with the angels, skin dampening with a sheen of sweat. Master doesn’t slip. Jared doesn’t either, holding true to the desk as he gets out, “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, sixteen.”

_Right, right, right, left. Only three more on the right. Four more on the left._

Jared can do this. He can get through this without another mistake.

The last round of slaps almost jolt the desk. Hard. Unrelenting, yet clean, not a hair out of place.

“Twenty.”

Master taps his hip.

_Legs together._

The drawer opens. Master keeps one in his office just in case he’s bad. It’s a good idea. Comes in handy. Like now, _whooshing_ through the air. Master is testing it. Testing how hard he wants to swing. How long, how wide, where his target is.

Jared feels it flirt with the skin of his ass, the taut leather settling over the red-raw flesh. It’s going to hurt. No two ways about it. It’s what he needs, though, to be pure again, so Jared will thank Master for his kindness when it’s over. He’ll thank him for giving someone as useless as him all of the chances that he has, hoping that when he, inevitably, messes up again, Master might show him mercy.

Three breaths is all Jared manages before he’s gritting his teeth from Master swinging wide, using his whole arm—whole body, the slightest grunt leaving his lips from the effort to twist and slam the leather on Jared’s ass, triggering his hole to clench, knees to lock, fists to curl into the wood.

Don’t scratch the desk. Don’t _dare_ scratch the desk.

“One.”

“Too slow, Pet. Again,” Master scolds him, settling the paddle over the small of his back to grab his balls, spanking them twice this time. Once with two fingers, then with his whole hand. Jared wants to shake his head, shake off the pain radiating through him, but he doesn’t. He takes it on the chin, locks his body back up again and _waits. “_ One more mess up and it’s the clamps.”

Jared bites down his reaction, a surge of willpower settling in his core as Master delivers the same punishing strike from before, this time pushing that little bit extra. His mouth stays shut. Nothing comes out. No air, no spit, no blood from the gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

Don’t wait. Say.

“One.”

“Better,” Master says, a glimmer of hope lighting up Jared’s world as he takes the next three merciful strikes.

Master sighs, administers another whack. Jared says five, holds his position. “I try and be the best that I can be for you, and you turn around and spit in my face.”

He would never.

“Is it my fault? Am I not giving you what you need? Am I not _enough_ for you?”

Don’t shake. Can’t. Wants to, but can’t.

Master strikes again. Twice. So hard. So painful. Jared says the numbers, adds on the apologies and denials in his head.

“I feed you, clothe you, give you a roof over your head, and you… question me? Make me look like an idiot? What have I done to deserve such flagrant disrespect, huh? What makes _you,_ nothing but a filthy, greedy slut think you can _talk back_ to _me?”_

So many things wrong with that. He does respect Master. So much. So, so much. Master is everything! Can’t say it. Don’t say it. All a test. Has to pass.

“Eight.” Jared keeps his legs locked, doesn’t spread to alleviate the discomfort.

“What do I have to do to _please_ you, boy? It’s not enough that I devote every second of my time to making sure _you’re_ looked after, never really thinking about _my own needs_ because it’s _all about you_ , right?”

So wrong. So… So wrong.

“Nine.”

“But that’s what you do, don’t you? Ungrateful, whiny bitch is never satisfied. Oh, no. Always wanting more. Never appreciating the things that _I_ do for you. All of the effort that I put into your health, well-being, your _diet,_ your education—but none of that matters. No, because you want to _walk_ instead of crawl.”

“Ten, eleven.”

Master lowers the paddle to his thighs.

“Somewhere down the line, you seem to have gotten this idea in your head that you’re your own person. Which is ridiculous. Pets do not get to decide when they walk or crawl or use the bathroom. Don’t you get that? Or maybe you’d prefer not to be able to _crawl_ at all.”

Four over his thighs. Now he’s at a total of fifteen. Five more to go.

“Is that what you want? To be my gimp whore? Would I even want you, then? Well… I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see, if you continue to be worth about as much to me as a soiled diaper or a stain on my shoe.”

Jared would lick the stain clean. No matter what it is.

“Sixteen, seventeen.”

“What possessed you to think that it was _okay_ to interrupt my work? I had two hours left. _Two._ You don’t think that if I thought you couldn’t last six hours without using the bathroom, I would have put a catheter on you? You think I’m that underprepared? You think I don’t know what I’m doing? After two years of carting around your useless ass?”

Hopefully two more. If he can get through this.

“Eighteen, nineteen.”

“Perhaps I need to be clearer with you. Or start speaking to you like you’re an infant. Would that help _you_ to understand better, Pet? Do I have to change the way I speak, think and do everything to accommodate _your_ needs, or will you trust that I know what I’m doing, that I’m not an idiot, that I know what is best for you—always?”

“Twenty.”

Master taps his hip again. Twice this time.

_Turn and kneel._

“That’s part two of your Punishment finished. Now on to part three. Go and get box number 6.”

Jared suppresses a shudder, ignoring the pain in his thighs and ass as he turns and crawls for the door. Box number 6 is in storage room C.

_Weights._

Doesn’t like weights.

Master doesn’t like to be kept waiting, either, so Jared rushes past the servant dusting the portraits and disregarding his presence, turns a corner, picks up the pace, turns left and opens the door to storage room C.

Box number 6 is a blue box. Jared finds it quickly, grabs the handle with one hand and guides his three-limbed crawl with the other, passing the same servant on the way back. Slower this time.

Heavy. So heavy.

 _Hates_ weights.

But Master knows best. He always knows best.

By the time he gets back, Jared is hot all over, his thighs are burning, his ass is screaming and he’s more water than skin. Master checks his watch. Marks how long it’s been. Doesn’t tell him.

“Open it.”

Jared does. Swift, no fuss.

“I’m going to go back to work. You’re going to do laps around my desk, maintaining four and a half feet of distance outside of the radius at all times. Absolutely no wobbles, no hiccups, no pauses, or you’ll add more weights on. Ten laps for each weight added. If you make a mistake, you will look to me for instruction. Begin with the medium set leg weights.”

_15 pounds on each leg. Jared can do that. 30 isn’t that bad._

Strapping them on takes a moment. He tests the give. They’re fine. Ready to go. Jared starts crawling, focuses on his balance, makes sure he doesn’t fall outside the circle. Master is looking at his laptop but he’s always watching him. Always knows where he is, how many laps he’s done, how sore his body is, without needing to ask or lift a finger.

Jared clears the fifth lap.

His hand slips. Body freezes, seizing up. Master isn’t looking. Jared waits, keeps his eyes trained on Master’s cheek.

“That’s twenty more laps, boy. Put the lightweight arm weights on and get back to it.”

Master resumes tapping. Jared goes to box number 6 again, grabs the arm weights. He secures them, too. Ten pounds on each. He’s up to 50 in total.

Willing his hands not to slip again, Jared continues his laps, knowing that he has 115 left. The second attempt lasts as long as his body deigns to cooperate, hand slipping again as a sharp pain shoots along his back, throwing him off center.

That’s not an excuse to slip. It never is.

“Ankles. Heavyset. Keep going,” Master says, not looking at him, continuing to tap away.

The lack of acknowledgement makes him sad. Alone. Bathed in misery. He tries not to groan, lifting his tired arms to grab the weights, carefully strapping them onto his ankles.

He’s at 90 pounds now.

No more mistakes. He can do this. _Will_ do this. He got to 36, so it’s 104 left with the 20 added on. Not a big deal. Not his first time, either. Master expects him to get it done, and he’s not one to intentionally disappoint him.

Jared keeps the bubbles of pain rising up his throat down as he starts the 37th lap, avoiding casting his eyes to the bottle of water resting on the desk. Master hasn’t said he can have any. It doesn’t matter if he’s thirsty. It only matters if Master says it matters, though he can’t seem to fend off the dryness of his throat, the dull ache in his head or the sour taste in his mouth.

When he gets to lap 89, he tips over, immediately straining to get back into position, fighting back the tears that beg to spill down his cheeks. Master is there, shushing him, heaving him back onto his hands and knees. The tip of something presses at his lips, chapped, broken—he latches, faintly hearing _drink_ from somewhere.

So he does, praying that it’s Master’s voice commanding him. He sucks water into his mouth, swallowing large pulls, focusing on turning back the clock on his wet eyes.

He hears Master then, telling him to hold still as he secures the shoulder weights.

“You’re nearly there, Pet. Come on now, don’t disappoint me,” he says, a soft touch to his voice letting Jared know that he believes in him. Master believes that he can do this, and that should be enough. “Good boy. Wait for me to go back to my desk and resume pace. I don’t want to have to get off this chair for you a second time.”

Jared waits. Doesn’t say anything. Can’t. Hasn’t been told that he can. So he starts to crawl again the moment Master presses a key. With the added 20, that’s another 71 laps to go. Far more daunting with 120 pounds worth of weight on his body.

While he crawls, he thinks about how pleased Master will be with him when he makes it to the end. He thinks about the smile on his face, those hands running through his hair, scritching, scratching—caressing his cheeks, neck, tugging on his collar, reminding him that he’s valuable, at least to Master.

Master might even kiss him. Jared loves Master’s kisses. More than anything. More than sweets. More than life. Master’s kisses are to Jared what heroin is to addicts. Jared needs those kisses. They’re everything to him. Every soft touch, hard press, rough, wet tongue owning his mouth takes him to places no narcotic ever will reach because Master’s kisses are stronger than they could ever hope to be.

And sometimes it’s soft, slow, sensual, Master’s tongue flirting with his, Master’s teeth grazing his bottom lip, the taste of Master on his own tongue melting his body with each hot stroke.

When he’s really, really good, Jared gets to worship Master’s body, licking his pits, his sides, his hips, his neck—no marks. Master is not his possession. His skin is a gift that he is giving him. To taste, not to own. Jared worships all that he’s allowed to, savouring every sample of Master’s being that he’s given in those rare moments.

Before Master, Jared could only see feet as gross. But Master’s feet are beautiful and deserve to be shown the same respect. And he gets to lick those, too, suckling on each toe after massaging the soreness out of the soles when Master gets back from one of his trips. Jared doesn’t ask questions, just gets to making Master feel more relaxed. Because Master deserves to be well-rested and happy. If Jared can help in any way, he’s going to.

Jared loves getting to touch Master’s body. How lucky is he that he should get to even run his finger over the smallest plain of such high-end flesh, carefully selected and nurtured by Mother Nature herself when she endeavoured to create literal perfection? Master is that perfection. Jared is certain of it. Not a doubt in his mind. Master can do no wrong.

What else could he be, other than the epitome of God’s ideal lifeform? Even his ear-canals are perfect. Jared remembers Master’s private doctor saying so, needing a minute to compose himself after checking. Nothing can touch Master. Jared’s never seen him get sick. His skin is flawless. His body is healthy, strong and shows no signs of slowing down. He’s agile, wise, smart, fit, stunningly handsome.

There is no other that can compare to Jared’s Master, and he’s not sure he’s even fit to shine his shoes.

Lap 149 is almost done. Just eleven more. He can do it.

On 156, he stumbles. He could cry. So close. So, so close.

“Back. Middle. 14 more. Come on, Pet.”

He thinks about asking Master if he could please put it on for him, but that would be breaking the Rules. No, he has to do this himself. And he can. It’s just… it’s so heavy. His arms feel like gravity has been turned up to 100, his legs protesting every minute nudge in the opposite direction to the box.

Lifting his body enough to grab the weight leaves him breathing heavily, throat straining, back agonizing over the incoming weight bearing down on it. He just has to keep breathing. One, two, three, four, _lift,_ and out it comes, landing on the floor.

Has to get it around his back. It’s so heavy. It’s all so heavy.

After an egregious struggle, Jared straps it on, thrilled that he only has 14 more to go. Master looks at him, nods fractionally. _Yes._ He’s impressed—pleased with something someone as useless as he is, did. Jared rejoices, renewed enough to power through two more laps before feeling as though he’s going to break in half.

Lap 160 marks the final 10. Jared keeps up his breathing, focuses on the image of Master’s smiling face. Sees himself with his head on Master’s lap, laying on the couch. Fingers card through his hair, Master’s voice whispers about how good he is, how well-behaved he’s been, how precious and wonderful he is—it gets him through the next three.

164 is slow. Agonisingly slow. His hips throb, creaking like the Tin Man in need of a serious oil change. Jared pushes himself. Hands and knees keep moving.

Making the turn for lap 167 has him fighting back tears again. Just three more. He can do it—will do it. _Has_ to do it.

The final lap drags on for what seems like days. Jared is wiped. He can barely breathe. His throat is dry, lips cracking from lack of moisture, body seizing from the pressure and tightness of being locked in place for so long. If his hands and knees could cry, they’d be sobbing. Jared keeps pushing. Pushing, pushing, pushing, until he reaches that step.

And then he can’t push anymore. No more drive to keep him up. Nothing but pain. So much pain he feels sick with it. He just wants it to stop, wants to go back to a couple of hours ago where Master petted his hair and fed him sips of water. He wants to be a good boy again—longs to be that for Master, but he can’t even keep himself up anymore.

Useless. So useless. What’s the point of keeping him around when he’s a stain that not even industrial bleach seems to have a prayer of cleansing?

Jared feels boulders falling off of him. One at a time. Taken away. So stiff. So sore. So everything. Bad, bad, bad. Like him. It all hurts. _Breathing_ hurts.

Master’s hands are on him. Nice. Nice and warm. So kind to touch filth like him, to even graze his skin. It’s okay. Nothing will poison Master. Not even Jared. A disease like him could _never_ enter Master’s blood steam, _never_ bring him down a level, _never_ touch the sides.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Shush. Sweet boy, no,” Master croons. Jared doesn’t know what’s happening, but he soaks up the words, feeling his body shift. How, he doesn’t know. He’s not sure he could even move a finger without interference. “You’re gonna be okay, all right? I’m gonna take care’a you. Don’t you worry about a thing, my precious pet, okay? I’m here—I’ve got you.”

Warmth flirts with the flesh of his tender ass, his cheeks, his back. Is Master holding him?

“We’re gonna get you in a nice, warm bath, huh? You like the sound of that? Bathing with your Master?”

Jared can’t nod. He wills himself to. But he can’t. Wants to so badly! A bath with Master? Is this Heaven? Is he dead?

“No, no, no,” Master admonishes softly, hoisting him up, turning his face to kiss a tear-lined cheek. “It’s okay, Pet. I’m here. You did so good. You were so incredible, did everything you needed to,” he continues, stroking a hand through his hair, the chill of the aircon making goosebumps break out on his arms, legs, back. “I’m proud of you, sweet boy—” another kiss. He’s so lucky. “You did everything I told you to do. Followed all of the Rules to the letter.”

Great. He did something right. That’s nice to hear after all of that.

“Gonna get you warm and loose, sweetheart. Just you wait,” Master tells him, turning his head to kiss his forehead and bump their noses. “Get you cleaned up, nice and cozy, how’s that sound?”

He’s trying not to. Really, he is, but it’s hard not to cry when Master is kissing him, holding him, soothing him….

“No more tears, Pet. Come on now, there’s a good boy. You wanna be a good boy for me, don’t’cha? My good little pet?”

Jared finally nods, nuzzling Master’s shoulder.

“There’s my sweet boy.” Master carries him into the bathroom, settles him on the seat as he sets the bath to run. He stands, holds Jared’s head to his chest, strokes a hand through his hair. “Not long now. My beautiful boy, you did so good. Couldn’t be prouder.”

Unable to help himself, Jared brings his arms around Master.

“You can speak, Pet.”

“I’m sorry I’m so worthless,” Jared says, holding back the river of tears ready to stream down his face.

Master crouches until they’re eye-level, holds his head between his strong hands and strokes thumbs in soothing circles over his cheeks. “You’re not worthless. Not to me. And you don’t get to decide that.”

“I know—I’m sorry—I… I—”

“Shush, Pet. It’s okay. You’re all right,” Master assures him, arms around his head, swaying him from side to side. A finger crooks around his collar, Master’s lips press onto his scalp, kissing him once, twice, three times.

The kisses go. Master goes, too.

“It’s okay, sweet boy. Master’s just shutting off the water.”

Jared tries not to ogle Master as he strips himself of his clothes, then peels Jared’s jockstrap off his body, raises him off the seat and lowers him into the bath.

The first touch of heat feels like a mixture of bliss and knives carving into his skin. But Jared settles, suffused in bubbles. He settles because this is what Master wants. And if he’s good, Master will join him.

He does, slipping in behind, pulling Jared to his reliable chest. It’s amazing. Jared feels Master’s arms wrap around him. Secure. Safe. Warm.

Master’s hand swirls the water, cups some, brings it up to pour over Jared’s head, suds clinging to his hair. Then Master is lying back, taking Jared with him, letting him rest against his chest.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Jared does as he’s told, deflating in Master’s hold, tuning in to the soft humming as Master strokes his hair, the faint sound of gushing, smooth water flowing down at his side. It’s a big bath. Master tips Jared’s head back, covering his forehead with the flat of his palm as he wets his hair.

Heat soaks into his skin, a mixture of sweet and spicy aromas crawling up his nose, blended with the rich, woodsy scent of pure Master. There’s no telling his body to cooperate, pleasant hums rumbling up his throat as his hair is thoroughly wetted, teased, massaged.

All too soon, the rain of tranquil water stops, and Jared hears slick fluids rubbing together. Master changes his tune as he cards his adept fingers through Jared’s brown tresses, leaving no stone unturned, nothing left to chance, working down from his crown to the tips of his hair, digits flirting with the ends.

Fat lumps of soap fall off his hair and join the bubbles surrounding them, but Jared doesn’t care, content to moan adoringly, reverently as Master washes away all the dirt and grime of the day—the sweat from his exertion dripping off of him.

Master covers his forehead again, tilts his head back. His shamrock green, perceptive eyes, the same shade as his collar, stare into his soul for a moment before plump, full lips descend to settle over his, the tip of their noses passing over each other on Master’s way back to start washing the shampoo out of his hair.

He didn’t know what real washed-hair was until Master took him under his gracious wing.

“That’s it. There we go. Just relax, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned a reprieve, my sweet angel. I knew you could do it. All of it. That’s just how amazing you are, huh? My amazing little engine that could,” Master says, gently running fingers through Jared’s hair with one hand, assisting the steady stream of water clearing out every trace of product.

“Mmm.”

“You like that, don’t you, sweetheart? You like Master washing your hair.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“No talking now. Just relax. I’ve gotcha.”

Master washes all of the shampoo out, moves on to lifting Jared’s limbs and exfoliating them with a soft luffa, laced with something fruity, gently lowering his cleansed limb back into the water, a hand smoothing down and over it. Jared warms further when Master’s hands fold around his middle, thighs bracing to lift him above the surface of the soapy water to clean his crotch, abdomen, chest, and neck. Master is so careful, so attentive. When he cleans his crotch, Master whispers in his ear that he’s going to let him come later, and Jared does everything he can not to ruin the moment.

And when he raises him a touch higher to clean his asshole, Master husks that he’s going to penetrate him later, which he has to fight tooth and nail not to get hard from just _hearing_ those words, knowing that Master is going to be inside of him, that his body is going to be used for good—the good of making a home for Master’s perfect cock. It’s everything to him.

“You want that, don’t you, Pet? You want Master’s cock buried inside you?”

Jared nods. The water sloshes. Master shushes and soothes him, one finger stroking over his hole. “It’s okay. Shush. You’re safe. Master is gonna take care of you.”

The words settle in his core and he sags against him, again, feeling his eyes drift as Master continues to stroke his hole and fondle his balls.

“For being such a good boy, I’ll come inside you. Fill you up nice and full. You want that, don’t you?”

God yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

“I know, Pet,” Master says, kissing his neck, licking the moist skin up to his ear, teeth snagging his lobe and worrying the flesh. “I’m gonna fuck you so nice and slow, my sweet boy. I’ll make you feel good. Do you trust me to do that, precious boy?”

Jared nods again, wriggling and squirming, not caring about the pain in his limbs.

“Shush. Not yet. Gotta get you ready first.”

For a while, Master continues to hold him, legs spread wide enough to accommodate his stature between them, arms curled around him protectively. He gets sweet kisses to his neck, temple, cheek, the corner of his mouth. Whispers of sweet nothings float into his ear, on cloud 9 with every word of praise his brain absorbs, every tightening of Master’s arms around him, every warm breath ghosting over his neck.

“Time to get out of the bath, sweetheart,” Master says, making quick work of draining the water. When it empties out, Master keeps a hand on the back of Jared’s neck as he steps out, grabs a towel to wrap around himself and then pulls Jared up, getting his legs to lock around his waist with a quick command. A towel settles around him then, Master’s strong arms pulling him in closer as they exit the bathroom. “Master’s gonna use the massage oils tonight, my sweet pet. Make you feel good as new, like always.”

Jared’s body responds positively to the news, breathing a breathy sigh over Master’s shoulder, who rocks him and shoots off a quick demand to get the bathroom cleaned. That’s not something he has to pay attention to, so he doesn’t. No, he’ll bask in the glow of Master’s kind words—words he’s not sure he deserves for how useful he is on a _good_ day.

After a bit of a walk through the house, Master lowers him onto his bed, shushing him when he starts fussing about the loss of contact—non-verbally. Master must be feeling generous. Instead of being scolded, Master tells him it’s okay, again. He says for Jared to wait while he gets the oils. Then he hears music. Master comes back. Smiles at him.

Jared loves Master’s smile.

The oils are set on the bed, Jared’s towel pats over his body until he’s nice and dry. Master towels himself off, too, staying naked. Jared finds it difficult not to stare, but Master is already breathtaking fully clothed—without clothes is inhuman—

“It’s all right, Pet. You can stare. You can get hard, too,” Master permits him, kneeling on the bed next to him, one leg crossed under his ass as he starts working slick hands over Jared’s thighs, thumbs light, almost feather-soft as they knead his sore muscles, a shiver passing through him as the cooling sensation of peppermint dances over his skin. “Feels good, don’t it? I know you like this. Need it after all that crawling. You were so amazing, Pet. Just reminded me again why I had to have you the moment I saw you.”

Please, say more. Just a little more.

“I knew you’d be perfect for me. Beautiful, durable, naturally submissive. I wanted you the _second_ I noticed you, because I had every confidence that you would be worth my time. And you haven’t disappointed, my sweet boy. There’s not a damn thing I would want in exchange for you.”

Master moves on to his other leg, hands firm but steady, making Jared feel ten times lighter. Shame runs through him when his cock fills out, stretching along the length of his navel.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I said you could get hard. You’re not doin’ nothin’ I didn't tell you to do. That doesn’t mean you can touch yourself.”

Jared squirms, hips shifting, twisting, eager to roll over and rub.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Look at me, Pet… I’m gonna take real good care’a you, all right? Stop fussing. Just enjoy it.”

Deft fingers play him, tuning his body, replacing broken chords with pitch-perfect melodies. Master composes the song, standing at the dais as he conducts the orchestra flanking them on both sides. Mouths open, a choir of angels sing to the room, each note unlocking another mound of tension working down from his hips to his toes. Nothing is overlooked, Master presses in deep, uncoils the knot, tells him he’s perfect, amazing, beautiful, all he needs as he works his way back up, moving on to the next leg.

The same care is given, accompanied by soothing hums and praise, Jared’s form melting under it.

“So perfect, Pet. Not a damn thing compares to you. So good for me, aren’t you? Always tryin’ your best to make me happy.”

Jared nods, tears sliding down his cheeks and blending into the soft silk, scrunched up by the flexing of his fingers. Master doesn’t say he has to stop. He leans over him, sliding his hands up Jared’s sides, digging his knuckles in just a fraction as he passes over his ribs.

Then he kisses his chest. “Delicious, Pet. Always taste so good,” Master tells him, licking over his sensitive, eager nub, plump lips closing around it while Master trails back down with his hands, stopping at his hips to grind his fingers down to the bone, Jared’s back arching off the bed.

Master nips, lathes his tongue over him, circles it around in one slow sweep that has Jared’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, squirming under Master’s ministrations.

“Turn over, sweetheart.”

With a soft groan, Jared does as he’s told, biting the sheet the second he feels the swell of Master’s long, thick cock bumping over the curve of his ass.

“Soon, my sweet. Patience, okay?”

Jared nods, forces his hips up enough that his cock can’t repeatedly rub against the sheet. Strong, determined hands come back, slick with more oils, the scent of peppermint heavy in the air, a slight chill in his throat from the intensity. His skin accepts the soothing properties with each pass along the stretch of his back on both sides, Master’s cock slotting between Jared’s asscheeks with every rock.

Hopefully Master isn’t teasing him. It doesn’t matter what he wants, of course. But he does wish to please Master, if he’ll let him.

“You’re so gorgeous, Pet. I can’t wait to be inside you,” Master announces, massaging his shoulders, firm chest almost stretched over his back. The weight of Master on top of him makes him whimper, wishing he could always be under him like this, always connected to Master in some way, always worthy of his attentions. “Shush… I said no more tears, boy.”

Not sure what else to do, Jared wriggles his butt in apology and Master almost hisses, moving down his body to knead the fleshy globes until he’s gripping the sheets tightly, his ass is clenching around nothing, his bottom lip is caught between his teeth and fresh globs of pre-cum stick to his skin.

Jared’s head thrashes as the fat head of Master’s cock slips into his hole.

“Mmm. You’re so relaxed, Pet. Good boy. My good, precious, sexy boy. But, safety first. Don’t want you tearin’.”

Tearing doesn’t matter at all if it will mean Master won’t leave him. He wills himself not to bear down on Master’s thick crown, choosing to spread his legs like the whore that he is, ass pushed up as high as he can get it from his position.

“Greedy little pet. You want Master’s cock that bad, huh?” Jared isn’t permitted to respond with words, so he wiggles his butt again, bringing one hand back to part his right cheek. Master sucks in a breath. “Keep that up, sweetheart, and I won’t be able to go slow like I promised.”

That doesn’t matter. Not one bit. Jared wants Master to _wreck_ him.

He rubs his face into the silk sheet, hips swaying, begging, wanting, yearning for Master to fill him up. Between his legs, his cock throbs, neglected. It doesn’t matter. Jared doesn’t need it to be happy. Not that it belongs to him. No part of him belongs to Jared. More of an attraction piece, and that’s only if Master wants to touch it or have Jared touch it or even acknowledge it at all. He normally does when they’re like this, so Jared might get to come. But he doesn’t really care about that. He cares about Master bottoming out inside him, filling his insides with his pure, unfiltered nectar that Jared _craves._

“Now, now, Pet.” Master isn’t displeased, but he’s not thrilled with how he’s behaving either. Jared lowers his ass, but keeps his legs spread. “Better.”

Jared feels a tingle the moment Master’s lube-slicked fingers settle over his hole. He fidgets. “That’s right. You earned the good stuff after how well you took your Punishment,” Master says, circling his thumb around and around Jared’s crease. He flexes around the tip without anyone’s permission, wanting Master to push in.

He does, a minute later, whole thumb settled inside his heat, tingles making laps throughout his body, hole clenching around the welcome intrusion. Master shushes him again, bears down on his prostate, working the ridges until Jared’s legs go limp, his body sagging into the sheet, head turned to the side to prevent dying from oxygen deprivation.

“How’s it feel? Speak.”

“Good… S-so good, Master. Thank you, Sir! Please, Sir!”

Master pushes his other thumb in, kneading his prostate like a master baker preparing the perfect dough. Jared keeps his body in-check, willing his cock not to shoot off like a rocket the second he loses control of himself.

“It’s okay, Pet. You were amazing today, so you can come once, now. And again, later,” Master tells him, and Jared spasms around the thumbs inside him, one releasing, the other keeping him held open as two oiled fingers press in, performing languid circles and light taps. Jared comes without any amount of effort, ropes of cum soiling the bedsheet, ass clenching again and again, soothed by the gentle circling rhythm that leaves him breathless, speechless.

When his cock stops pulsing, he completely deflates, body like a cloud drifting in the wind. Master smoothes a hand over the small of his back while he twists and presses down with his knuckles, gently dragging them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth—Jared follows the path they travel in his mind, breathing evening out as he gets lost in the sensations.

“So good, my sweet boy. That’s it. Rest.” For a long time, Master switches between one finger rippling like a wave, two fingers circling like the beginning of a storm, lightning strikes zapping through Jared’s body each time they finish their course—and three fingers bearing down while Master’s thumb strokes over his perineum. “Master is very proud of you, Pet. I want you to know that. I pushed and pushed and pushed, but you never gave in. Just goes to show how far you’ve come, and I’m one lucky Master to have such an amazing pet, like you. I really mean that.”

“Mmm,” Jared agrees, focusing on Master’s earthy timber and letting it soak into his bones.

“All right. I think you’re ready.” As soon as the words leave Master’s mouth, Jared locks everything in place so that he doesn’t present himself like a slut, again. Master has established that this isn’t what this is about, so he must remain still, or Master would have told him to change position. “Don’t come until I tell you to.”

Jared nods, firmly.

Master slides right in, fists by Jared’s sides, lips flirting with the side of his neck as Master gently kisses his flesh, balls nestled on Jared’s taint. It feels like coming home, all of the day's worries and strife pushed out of him as Master grinds into him, never pulling back, just pressing down, hard, but not enough to hurt.

He kisses, nips, bites and lathes his tongue over his neck. Each one is fleeting. So he feels it more. It implants in his brain, triggered to respond in kind, head tilting to give Master more room to work with, hole fluttering around the thick mass inside him.

Grinding, grinding, grinding. It’s gentle, sweet. Makes his body rejoice and remember why it prays to the deity above him, hands laying over his, curling their fingers together, body draped over his back—controlled, not pressing down, lingers so their skin fuses together while Master rotates, twists, tucks in, filling Jared out, peppering his skin with adoring kisses, hands squeezing his, cock moving in fractions that steal Jared’s breaths as if they were bullets designed to take him down, for good.

“You feel incredible, Pet,” Master tells him, pressing his hands harder into the sheets, tilting back ever so slightly to start rocking in from left to right, left to right—Jared’s toes curling, whole body quivering from the weight, the feeling, the devotion in each short burst. “I told you Master would take care’a you. That’s what I do—what I’ll always do. You never have to worry about nothin’ ‘cause that’s my job, okay?”

Jared turns his head, enough that Master could lean down and connect their lips if he wants to. And, by some miracle, he does, craning his neck, sealing their lips together. He keeps it light, barely-there touches, lips pulling back so slow that the skin protests the retraction, holding on to any molecule they can. Jared can’t say he blames them, not when Master’s kisses are his reason for breathing, along with everything else that encapsulates his Master.

Master kisses him again, and Jared’s mouth falls open, letting him taste, own, devour, conquer like he has done so many times before. Above him, Master’s hips never stop the snake-like ripples that have had Jared on the edge from the first breach of Master’s cock. He hasn’t been told he can come yet. So he won’t.

The kiss continues, Master thrusting his tongue deep, squeezing Jared’s hands harder and harder, rising up once to snap his hips forward and punch a breath out of him. Master pulls away then, latches onto the side of his neck instead, releases his hands to curl them underneath Jared’s hips, fingers digging into the skin as he guides him up and back onto his cock with shallow pushes and pulls.

Jared feels like he’s going to pass out. Calm waters have turned into high tides, demanding to climb over that wall, but Master is the barrier, his voice the key that will split a hole in the wall big enough for Jared to burst through. He can’t get his hopes up, not for a second—Master could decide he doesn’t deserve to come again. So he needs to hold on, remember his training, remember what Master told him.

Master sucks an angry, dark mark onto the side of his neck, fuses his body along Jared’s back, gets his knees between his legs and spreads them as far as they can go.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, sweetheart. Master needs to come. Wait for my word,” Master informs him, and Jared finds himself clawing the sheets as Master grips his hips with brutal force and pounds into him, breathing shot, grunts and groans filling the air, muffled only by the meeting of slick flesh on slick flesh.

This is what he’s been waiting for, for Master to use him for his pleasure, to make his body _sing,_ to make him feel for just one second that he’s not entirely useless because _his_ body is the one that Master chooses to screw. _His._

But it’s not his body, really.

“I’m close, Pet. Count to twenty, then I want you to come.”

Jared prepares himself, counting down the numbers in his head, focusing in on the rapid pelts to his ass. His body is on fire, his hands can barely keep their purchase on the sheets. Every pulse feels like a gift, heat flooding through him, mind spinning in circles of _yes, more, please, thank you, Master, yes,_ and Master always knows what he wants, snapping his hips harder, amping up the pace to what would be sheer torture if he wasn’t prepped for it, face shifting up the bed, hands desperately trying to cling to anything, hole clamping harder and harder around the weight inside him.

And then Master grunts, slaps his ass, grips him tighter, fucks in one, two, three, four, five more times and comes _hard,_ pumping hot, thick ropes of cum into Jared’s channel, which he swallows up, his own cock spilling beneath him.

He doesn’t care about that.

Master is getting his breath back. He sounds spent. Jared’s glad that he tired him out, that he made him feel good, in some way.

“Always so perfect for me, Pet. Tightest ass goin’,” Master praises him, giving a couple of light swats to his ass and half-hearted thrusts before pulling out. Jared cups a hand over his hole while Master fetches the plug, moves his hand out of the way, and slots it in. “There we go, my sweet boy. Nice and full.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

After a minute of smoothing a hand up and down Jared’s back, Master calls for someone to change the sheets, and Jared joins Master on a chair while they wait, happily sitting on his lap again while fingers card through his hair.

It doesn’t take long for Master’s bed to be stripped and changed. Once it’s done, Master carries him back to bed, keeping him held tight to his body as he lowers them down, one arm secure around Jared’s waist, the other petting his hair while Master kisses his crown and whispers softly to him.

“G’night, my sweet pet. Master loves you.”

“I love you, too, Master.”

Jared is asleep within seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> What would you like Master and Jared to get up to? ;D


End file.
